


Let's Get Physical

by akgerhardt



Category: Homestuck
Genre: /warning for eating and the likes, Crack Treated Seriously, Dirk gets healthy for the D, Dry Humping, Fanon PWP, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Massages, Roleplay, Yoga, teasing/denial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18442331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akgerhardt/pseuds/akgerhardt
Summary: The man is waiting excitedly, duffle bag slung over his shoulders and a boombox, ankle weight set, and yoga mats held under his sculpted guns. He’s wearing knee-high socks, lime green croc sneakers, and bedazzled dolphin shorts over a spandex leotard. His face is equally hideous, adorned with a dorky smile and pink skull sweatband. Elastic secures his glasses to his head.Dirk has never been so turned on.





	1. Chapter 1

            "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!" 

Dirk grumbles, pulling the covers over his head as Dave opens the blinds. He never should've given him the spare key. 

"... Wha'time 'sit?"

            "Eight. Time to get a move on."

"Fuck no. M' going back to sleep."

            "Can't- we gotta birthday up in here before my flight."

"Not necessary."

            "Uh, yeah, it abso-fucking-lutely is. You only turn the big Two One once. It’s all downhill from there, so party hard, my man!" 

"I'll pass, but thanks."

            "Nope. C'mon, live a lil. Up and at 'em!"

Dave yoinks the cover off, and he sighs, hauling himself to his feet like a geriatric and cracking his joints. He is an ancient soul, already done with the pain of existence. Dave, however, shits rainbows, plays with Nerf guns, and can do backflips, among other things, all at the ripe old age of fifty-seven. 

            "There we go. One step forward- and that's the wrong way. Would it kill you to not be glued to the depression rectangle in front of your elders?" 

"Rose is here?" 

            "Duh. We Uber'd together."

He pulls on real pants at that, fixing his hair before trudging to the kitchen.

**"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!"**

Oh, god, everyone's here and he looks like a hobo. In his defense, they snuck into _his_ apartment and they know it's way too early for him to be conscious. He's amazed that they managed to pull this off, to be honest. There’s ironically shitty decor strewn around, a homemade cake from the Crockers, and a small mountain of presents. He already feels guilty.

"Thanks, really... Sorry; I wasn't expecting this."

He's assailed with hugs, which he awkwardly reciprocates. Roxy tries once again to push rescue cats onto him, but he reminds her that he should not be allowed to take care of any living being. Dave ruffles his hair, to his annoyance, telling him to lighten up. The group stays for about two hours before departing with even more affection, and Dirk sighs in relief once they're gone, shuddering it off. 

            "There’s one more surprise."

"Bro, please, you didn’t have to get me anything." 

             "But that’s the fun part! You’re gonna whip your ass into shape with a personal trainer."

...

"What."

            "You know, one of those dudes who does Health. He'll teach you exercises, help you develop a routine, make smoothies-"

"I know how all of that shit works. It’s a waste of money."

            "Trust me, you'll love him."

...

He waggles his brows under his Stiller shades, then grabs his suitcase and heads out. 

            "First session is at noon."

"But-" 

He gives him a thumbs up before closing the door. Dirk sighs even deeper, slumping onto the couch. So much for going back to sleep.

There's a knock at the door minutes early. He unlocks and opens it, staring in shocked silence.

The man is waiting excitedly, duffle bag slung over his shoulders and a boombox, ankle weight set, and yoga mats held under his sculpted guns. He’s wearing knee-high socks, lime green croc sneakers, and bedazzled dolphin shorts over a spandex leotard. His face is equally hideous, adorned with a dorky smile and pink skull sweatband. Elastic secures his glasses to his head.

Dirk has never been so turned on.


	2. Chapter 2

He realizes that he’s been gawking and snaps out of it, attempting to save face. The poor dude looks like he lost his nerve.  
  
     "Ah, sorry, is this the right address? I might've mis... I mean, are you Mister Strider?"  
  
"Mr. Strider's my bro. Call me Dirk."  
  
...  
  
     "Okie dokes, at least I didn't botch that much up. May I come in?"  
  
He nods, stepping aside awkwardly and then shutting the door.  
  
"So, you're-"  
  
    "Juicy Jake!"  
  
"... The fuck, are you a stripper?"  
  
    "Beg pardon?"  
  
"Is that really your name?"  
  
     "Perhaps," he winks, flashing a grin. "So, I understand you're in need of a coach!"  
  
"Debatable... I didn't sign up for this, and I'm fine with just saying it happened so you can get paid without me doing shit."  
  
     "No siree! The fella who called was awfully insistent, and I wouldn't feel right pilfering like that."  
  
"Fair point, but I'm really not interested in...”

He sets his equipment down, giving Dirk a choice view of the bedazzled "JUICY" on his ass. Maybe he's marketing his own line of drinks.

     “Hm?”

“Uh. Yeah, where do we start?”

     “Well, first off, I've got to assess you.”

Ass-ess, he thinks, smirking to himself. Jake steps closer, and- oh, he’s looking him over.

     “May I feel you up? Just let me know if you're uncomfortable! I assume you have no ailments to mind.”

He nods again, trying to keep a straight face as Jake touches him. The sensation is overwhelming. He starts by ghosting his hands across his skin, then kneading gently in certain areas.

     “You, sir, are full of tension. Have you _ever_ stretched? There's more knots than muscle in your poor shoulders!”

He says nothing, just shudders involuntarily when Jake finds a particularly ornery spasm and addresses it.

     “... Maybe you’d prefer to sit down? All that lactic acid can make one woozy.”

Jake plops onto the couch, and then he’s sitting on his lap uninvited. There’s an awkward pause as he realizes the gravity of his decision, and he apologizes just for Jake to laugh it off, getting back to work. Dirk sighs deeply, as if the weight of a lifetime of self-inflicted stress is melting away beneath his hands. He tries to stay still to avoid giving him a boner. He’s not sure what he was thinking, really. It’s like he was possessed by his own dick, drawn to those tacky microshorts like a moth to a lamp.

As Jake goes lower, he's more sensitive and can't help squirming. He gets to a knot in Dirk’s side, and he inhales sharply, stifling a whine as he continues. Jake doesn't falter but shimmies out from under him before Dirk can do something dumb like asking if there's a shakeweight in his pants.  

     “Perhaps lay on your stomach? I think it'd be easier for the both of us.”

He does so eagerly on the unrolled yoga mat, and Jake straddles his waist, able to apply much more pressure at this angle and realign his joints. Dirk is moaning quietly now, past reservations. It’s not his fault that the dude chose to unfuck him. He’s experiencing pure heaven, being carefully unwound and untangled, pains that had become his norm dissipating to be replaced by bliss.

“... Pretty sure trainers aren't massage therapists. You need a degree and license or some shit.”

     “I have a license to make you feel good. Does that suffice~?”

“Mnnnn…”

He gets in deeper with his fingertips, and Dirk arches his hips slightly in pleasure, pressing back against his crotch. Jake squeaks.

“Sorry,” he murmurs sheepishly, still beyond relaxed.

     “Heh, it’s to be expected. So, tell me: what's your diet like?”

“... Sixty-nine percent overprocessed corn products with artificial cheese.”

     “Oh jeez… Well, you'll want to balance that out with foods high in protein and fiber. Eating a vegetable every now and then wouldn't hurt, either… Try to avoid added salt and sugar, as they'll _really_ mess you up. About how many glasses of water do you drink per day?”

“Does soda count?”

     “Afraid not.”

“Then none.”

     “Alrighty. Now’s a great time to start! You’re supposed to flush out the toxins after a good rub-down, anyway.”

He reaches for his bag, now perching on his ass. Dirk shifts slightly as he rifles around, trying to get some friction. His poor dick is squished against the foam mat, and he wants more than anything to roll over and grind-

     “Here we are! It's on the house."

He hands him a reusable water bottle, already filled, then finally climbs off of him. He chugs the whole thing in an undignified manner. Those chemicals really do cause lightheadedness, and he needs to at least quench his physical thirst.

     “Better?”

“Yeah... Holy shit, I forgot what it was like to not have a bad back.”

     “I'd say your back is pretty swell! Just has some kinks and whatnot from inactivity. I'm guessing you're a sloucher-”

Without warning, he slips his hands under his shirt, inspecting his torso. He hiccups.

     “... and your core _definitely_ needs to be strengthened. But don't worry, I'll teach you exercises to do on your own! It'll be hard at first, but rest assured that it gets much easier the more you practice!”

…

“Sounds great,” he manages. “How often can you come? To check in.”

     “As often as you'd like. Let’s just see how today goes, hm? I’ve been told I can be a bit intense. Don’t want to get too physical right off the bat! We've got to work up to a full routine.”

“Do your worst. Trust me, I can handle it.”

Several hours later, he's a heap of burning, shaky muscles, drenched in sweat. Those leg lifts were killer… like everything else. He lays there on the floor, still catching his breath long after Jake has left. Weakly lifting his phone, he cancels the sessions between then and the next week. Jake replies with an underlying smugness of “told you so” and reminds him to get protein ASAP and stretch to help recover post-workout. He complies begrudgingly, hauling himself to the kitchen. The complementary nutritional powder is bland, so he dilutes it with less-healthy sustenance.

This is going to take some getting used to... Maybe he should make it two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

     “Look, I know this is an adjustment period, but you've got to get real nutrients in you to keep your energy up. We don't want you going keister-over-noggin in the middle of a sun salutation, now, do we?”

“I reject your offering. Shit’s nasty.”

     “You haven't even tried it! I worked so hard making this from scratch with home-grown bean sprouts and-”

“Never asked you to.”

     “Just eat your vegetables, Dirk!” he pleads. “They’ll make you feel so much better.”

“... I have a sensitive stomach, ok? It’s embarrassing.”

     “Made all the worse by your limited diet, I'm sure.  _ Anyone  _ living on chips and pop would have a botched digestive system, not to mention a heightened risk of ulcers and kidney stones! Just give these little plants a try, pleeease? You'll get used to them.” 

He sighs, relenting at his cute expression. Jake feeds him, piece by piece, and he has to admit, they taste great. Not saturated in oil and salt, just light, simple, and with the perfect amount of spices... 

Unfortunately, his stomach disagrees. Fortunately, Jake stays to administer healing rubs. The praises and encouragement were reward enough, but that sells it. 

He'll eat his damn vegetables, at least when Jake’s there. It’s more than worth the initial discomfort. He'd eat almost anything if Jake held it to his lips and sat in his lap with the promise of cuddles after, which allows him to gradually add whole grains, healthy fats, fiber, and protein. He's starting to opt for nutritional food even when Jake's not around. Shit, he's even chugging water on his own now. He's almost proud of himself. 

He finds himself needing antacids less and less. A daily probiotic helps alleviate the underlying issues, but he doesn't bother telling him when his body finally stops rebelling. He’s not exactly being deceptive- they've fallen into a routine of movie snugglefests following meals. He’s just getting Dave’s money's worth. 

The dude comes in the morning one Saturday to goddamn spoon-feed him oatmeal with fruit and walnuts in bed, then caresses him back to sleep. When they wake, he's badgered to “go for a hike with me and enjoy this lovely weather! You've got to meet my gran already,” and protests until Jake makes a sad puppy face. He laces up in a pair of neon orange croc sneakers (complimenting Jake's lime ones) that was part of Dave's ironic gift and then departs, equipped with his bottle and shades. To be fair, it is nice outside. They separate when they start getting sweaty, but Dirk is motivated enough to keep up with him, albeit winded. He thinks Jake is chattering about the sights more than he's breathing, yet he's somehow able to keep scaling the steep slopes. Dirk is out of his element, fuck-deep in nature and plagued by a bukkake of invisible pollen and dog dander. Still, it's amusing to watch Jake and his spry grandma hype each other up and point out tiny plants, bugs, and critters with equal enthusiasm. He’s inundated with an overabundance of funfacts, but he doesn’t mind. Their excitement is almost contagious. 

Almost. 


	4. Chapter 4

      "Oh, you’re doing fantabulously! You really have been practicing... I'm so proud~"

He smooches his cheek like it's no biggie, and Dirk almost loses his balance. Jake helps steady him, and then he lowers into a leg stretch.

      "I think we should do the jack-knife next. How do you feel?

"... Sore. Your new thigh thing fucked me up."

      "Whoopsie. Want me to work on them?"

He nods, too ashamed to ask but not to go along with this lewd shit. There’s only one aspect that's bothering him...

"So, uh, is this your fulltime gig? Do you have a lot of clients?"

      "No and not really."

...

"Care to elaborate?"

      "For sure! Just don't want to bore you with my malarkey, heheh... I went to school for two years to learn this mumbo jumbo, and it hasn't really gotten me anywhere. Sure, I've brushed with celebrities, but they tend to be stingier than suburban moms when they're not doing publicity stunts. Also, there are far too many more advanced folks in the field and too few real job openings. 

      Thankfully, I found that my assets are employable! I payed off my loans within mere months of dancing."

...

"Dancing."

      "Yes?"

"Like, exotic dancing? Is that what you call it?"

      "There isn't anything "exotic" about it, persay, but that's the term! I think. I'm also an aspiring pole artist. That shit is HARD. No one seems to realize just how much skill and stamina it requires, let alone the plethora of injuries you risk... My hands were so blistered and overtaxed after the first class that I couldn't lift or hold anything for days after, heheh... I have nothing but the utmost respect for the master athletes. Have you _seen_ the moves they do?!"

He turns his attention back to Dirk's inner thighs, still rubbing the tendons gently and ignoring the prominent protrusion mere inches away. Dirk is dying in self-inflicted suffering. 

"... Wanna demonstrate? Your moves, I mean. Any of them- fuck, wait, no. I feel filthy enough as is... I can't do this."

      "Hm?"

"I don’t know if you realize how goddamn horny I get around you, or if this is some kind of rpg, or if I'm just being a perv, but, if you're not comfortable with me having a raging boner for you, we should probably part ways because I jerk off to this shit. I'm sorry, Jake; I'm losing my goddamn mind!" he blurts out, then braces himself.

...

      "You fancy a good canoodling? Why didn't you just ask?!"

"It's not that simple... In my defense, trainers ain't known to incorporate your brand of questionable content."

      "I suppose... but do you want to or not?"

"My nuts may actually turn blue if I don't."

 


	5. Chapter 5

It really was that simple, and Dirk is dumbfounded.    
  
     "This isn’t what I get paid for at my real job, mind you. Not that there's anything wrong with such a profession- I commend it! I just don't want you thinking I'm treating you like a client, you know?"   
  
"Right."   
  
Dirk’s knees are weak, and his arms are in a state akin to spaghetti. He’s sweaty all over. This typical post-workout state is worsened by the turn in events.    
  
     "Your personality and Dirkisms are quite endearing, and you were a looker from the start! Now you're getting healthy inside and out, and I couldn't be prouder... So, tell me: what do you want out of this whole shebang?"   
  
"Uh. Shit, I don’t know. I was just stagnating in depression until you came along... Thanks to you, I'm functionally depressed, which is pretty sweet and also hell because I have to keep from relapsing. If you were inclined to fuck me for my efforts, I would humbly accept."   
  
     "You got it, buckaroo!" he winks, making his signature double finger guns.

His boner would have died right then and there if Jake hadn't promptly straddled his lap, gripping his hips to balance himself. He bites back a whine as Jake starts rutting against his crotch, slow and sweet. The silky fabric of his shorts creates a decadent friction as he thrusts to full mast, sighing. He has an insane amount of stamina and control over his movements, and Dirk can barely keep up as they go faster, just using the opportunity to grope his ass. It’s more solid than plush like he'd fantasized, but the sculpted muscles just make him harder. Goddamn, that's a fine rump… He should consider nude modeling; the most esteemed Renaissance artists had nothing on him.

     "Having fun back there?" he laughs breathily.

"Hell yes. Fuck..."

     "You’re downright adorable, pumpkin~"   


He doesn’t last much longer, nutting in his ironic yoga pants. Jake continues for a couple more minutes as he catches his breath, crooning more praises. 

They just kinda scoot their mats together and flop down in a heap. Dirk hums contently, relieved to have finally dealt with his self-inflicted tension. 

     "... How'd you rate my services? Any feedback?" he grins cheekily.

"69/10; would have preferred some lip action, though." 

     "I'll keep that in mind next time!" he smirks before rolling over to fetch a pair of equally hideous backup shorts from his bag. Of course, he went commando.

Dirk is completely and utterly boned... Not that he's complaining.   



End file.
